Genetics
by carved in the sand
Summary: She always did have Itachi's eyes. - Sarada-centric/BoruSara
1. bend and break

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Bathed in the moonlight, Sarada grips Boruto's tanto desperately as she faces down death itself. The Grass nin is tall and tanned, sun-bathed skin ashen in the pale light above, blood staining his clothes carelessly. His face is too sharp to be handsome, and his smile is too cruel to be comforting. He brandishes a kunai threateningly as he licks the blood from his lower lip.

"You don't have to worry," he drawled lowly, stepping closer. She swallows. "I'll make sure you won't feel a thing."

Behind her, Boruto trembles.

The son of the Nanadaime clutches his bleeding stomach weakly as he pressed his broken body into the tree behind them. It might be the only thing keeping him upright. Sarada feels him gasp in pain and curl into himself further. His dislocated shoulder, deep stab wound, and broken ankle keep him from making a proper escape without her, and his chakra is dangerously low. She wonders how he can find the strength to hang on to the belt of her skirt as frantically as it was.

He jerks her back towards him. A warning.

" _Run_ ," he croaks. "Please run."

"Shut up," she mutters.

Sarada, on one knee, shifts backwards against Boruto, between his legs. He jerks her back again and manages to pull her closer to him.

"Take one more step," she hisses, glaring at the Grass-nin for all she's worth, "and you'll regret it."

They're only sixteen, only jonin three weeks into their rank, only children who haven't had violence like this branded behind their eyelids. Sarada doesn't know what it means to be an avenger, or keep herself going through the strength of her hatred, but she suspects she might learn today.

 _Papa_ , her heart whimpers. Will she see him again after this?

The Grass-nin takes another defiantly. Another. Another. "What do y'think the Bingo Books will say about me once I take your eyes, little girl?" he asked, a sadistic playfulness in his tone. Behind him, she can see Mitsuke laid face down on the grass in a pool of his own blood. It makes her flinch. "No one would fuck with me for the rest of my life. Or maybe I could just sell them to the highest bidder. Who knows? I have options. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for you."

She could feel the frantic spin of her Sharingan, desperation and horror and the ache of her body pushing it into overdrive. She pressed further into Boruto until she could feel the warm blood of his chest pressing into the back of her flak jacket.

This boy, made of sunlight and smirks, has thicker skin than she's ever thought. _Leave me to my death_ , he asks of her. _Leave me here to die._

It's almost insulting. There's a reason why _she's_ always squad leader, and gods help her if both of her boys end up dead tonight.

The four broken fingers of her left hand make ninjutsu an impossibility, and facing against a man that all but destroyed her team within moments, within the space of her shuriken slicing into thin air, she knows her odds with only close combat are skim. He steps closer yet again and laughs heartily as she tries pulling him into another genjutsu. Through her mind's eye, he's plunged into a black lake underneath a navy sky.

It's still no use. To taunt her, the Grass-nin takes his time with releasing it. His smile is still in tact as he saunters forward.

"How many more tricks do you have up your sleeve little girl?" the Grass-nin taunted. He brandished the kunai outward, ready to strike.

Sarada dropped her teammate's tanto all together and scrambles backwards, arms spread wide. Boruto gives a little gasp, but whether from pain or shock, she can't tell. She doesn't care to. If this is the only way that she can protect him, if even for a moment, then she'll do it.

"Sara-chan," Boruto mumbled miserably, a whisper of fondness, a pair of lips against the back of her neck. She shivered at his toneless horror. "Please run. _Please_ , Sara-chan."

"Quiet. Save your energy," Sarada spat, dark hair falling into her eyes. The world around her painted in shades of blue, inverted colors of darkness and chakra streams, was not comforting anymore. Her Sharingan zeroes in on her other teammate, terrified of what she knows she'll see.

She watched the life fade from Mitsuke's body, precious life blood spilling around his too-pale skin, his soft white kosode, as she breathed in the smoke of the forest that suffered under her ninjutsu. The precious gold of his eyes fluttered away behind his eyelids, and they echo Boruto's pleas.

 _Run_ , he begs silently. It's a tremble of desperation as he fades into a corpse.

Sarada stared down the Grass-nin with a violent hatred that shook her to the core. She pressed farther into Boruto, to protect, to feel the uneven gasps of his breath, as her eyes began to burn. _I hate you_ , her heart growled, as butchered as it was, _I hate you I hate you I hate you I fucking hate you._

She isn't sure if it's the desperation or the pain that gives her strength. Somehow, as if her Sharingan still holds secrets she's not yet privy to, she calls the Grass-nin into another genjutsu with only her left eye. Chakra flooded from his sight to her own, binding him into the nightmare she'll craft, securing her prey. The midnight blue sky of her usual illusions is altered completely. Only the depthless black remains.

The blood moon that rose above their heads filtered the world into into the red and white of something monstrous that's yet to unfold. Sarada flexes outwardly, breathing deeply - there isn't a doubt in her mind that this world is her's to command.

The Grass-nin gasped, choked, fell limp onto the black waters, and sank beneath them once more; Sarada sank with him in ghostly grace. She forgot the throbbing pain of her fingers and the sharp bruising of her ribs as they drowned together.

She fed off of his terror like cool spring water, and she ached for more. Sarada searched her body for more strength as her chakra compounded around them. The Grass-nin's eyes bulged in fear, and terror, and pain. He thrashed like a dying fish.

With her right eye, she molded the chakra around and between them with ease. She turned the lake water freezing cold, then burning hot, and embedded needles conjured from thin air into his flesh. She breathed, and the needles were coated in a flesh-searing poison, slipping into his eyes. She stretched and shrank time within his mind to her pleasing as the screams grew louder, less strangled and more startling. The animalistic sounds resounded outside into the real world where her body shook with over exertion.

Sarada blinked away from the illusion as she fell completely into Boruto's chest, exhaustion weighing down her chest. The sound of his voice lulled her into sleep, though his shouts were just as loud as the Grass-nin's. Her name, over and over and over.

 _Sarada!_ he called out, the echo following her into the dark.

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Sasuke watches his student rest his head against Sarada's stomach through the hospital door's window. His daughter stares at the ceiling blankly, playing with the blonde's wavy hair, fingers too restless to stay still. They're deathly silent. Her face contorts into a sudden snarl of pain, or terror, or anguish. From this distance, it's hard to tell. His body aches from the last week of political mayhem with Grass Country and Naruto's incessant stress-induced insomnia, and so do his eyes.

It physically hurts to know that Sarada's eyes will ache just the same.

"Maybe we should call in Tsunade-sama?" Sakura murmured. The fright in his voice . "I-I mean, I might have made a mistake. The psychological damage was...extensive. I could have missed something. It's possible."

"It's not. You're _thorough_ , Sakura. You don't make mistakes," Naruto murmured quietly. Sasuke turned to watch his wife and best friend huddle together, arms crossed, voices pinched. "She's just- how do you undo this sort of stuff? How do you fix a dead friend? What can we give her but time?"

"It's been _two weeks_ ," Sakura spits, not able to keep the tremble of sorrow from her voice.

Team Konohamaru's mission to eliminate a well-organized crime ring in Grass Country went smoothly, per usual, until they'd gone to battle with an S-rank missing ninja. Travel weary and low on chakra, they had no options but to engage. The way Boruto stitched together the story from his concussed, bludgeoned memories just barely add up; the completed mission, the attack, the Grass-nin's trap laid so perfectly for them on the border between Earth and Grass, all of Sarada's failed genjutus, Mitsuke's death, and the one successful illusion killed their enemy with a _stroke_.

Tsukiyomi has left wounds on him that still find their way into his nightmares, a man well into his forties, and even Kakashi admits to the flickering leftovers of trauma. But he never knew genjutsu to kill like this. This is the type of speculation he keeps to himself.

All Sasuke knows is that his student came home carrying more than one corpse.

As Sakura tended to the children personally, as they frequented visitors from a distraught Konohamaru, a mothering Hinata, a concerned Kakashi, a frightened Naruto, and himself, who spent the long night hours sitting on Sarada's left side as Boruto held his stead on her right. The young blonde regaled them of the tale again and again, detail upon detail coming together, until his daughter had finally awaken.

The foreign kaleidoscope of her pin wheel eyes spun in a panic, refusing to dissipate.

She hadn't spoken a word since opening her eyes.

 _Catatonic_ , Sakura had told him.

 _Broken_ , Boruto had muttered under his breath.

"I don't know what else to say. We have no clue how Tsukiyomi affects the caster, but even if we did...don't you see this stuff at the mental clinic all the time? She's been- been _traumatized_. There are some wounds that heal at their own pace. You two need to be there for her for now," Naruto said, reaching out to grasp Sakura's hand and give Sasuke a heavy look. It's weight is physically painful. "And I...it might as well be Boruto laid out over there. These brats are all the same to me. Sarada...she's...I'm _sorry_. I'm so fucking _sorry_. I wish I could say something that mattered. I'm sorry."

"Ah," Sasuke says.

Naruto apologizes as brokenly as his son. It hurts worse, coming from him, acknowledging that they were powerless.

Sakura gasped out a soft, pained sob and pulled away from Naruto, walking brusquely down the hospital halls towards her office. Sasuke sighs after her. They both know what Naruto won't say - some wounds heal at their own pace, and some wounds never heal at all. How long has their daughter been festering?

"What do you think, Sasuke?" Naruto murmured, watching his wife whisk down the ammonia-laced halls in a billow of red and white clothes. "You've been too quiet."

"I...," the Uchiha murmured to himself, watching as his daughter caught his gaze through the door's window, "she's always had Itachi's eyes, hasn't she?"

 _Nii-san_ , he croaks in his head, watching Boruto curl his body into Sarada's prostrate form, the precious children that he seems to fail again and again, _I can't lose her too._

Through the window, blood red eyes met his own.

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 **A/N:** _Because Sarada has Itachi's eyes and no one can convince me otherwise and how fucking cool would it be for her to be able to use Tsukiyomi even when Sasuke couldn't because like Sakura's a genjutsu type so she just has a natural apt for it. Like. That would be so cool. And of course horribly frightening because someone would have to die for it to happen but I mean...Kishi didn't have any problems with making that happen._


	2. rehabilitate (or something like that)

Boruto tries his damnedest to spend every waking moment at the hospital by Sarada's side. The only things that pull him away are hygienic necessities and Mitsuki's funeral. It's a quiet, gut wrenching affair, that makes it impossible to say anything meaningful as he stands before the large crowd swathed in black. He does't know how to mourn the way that his parent's generation does - this is the first real loss he's ever experienced, and it hits home achingly so. It's impossible to articulate properly.

Afterwards, when Mitsuki's name is etched onto one of the three cenotaph stones at the heart of the village, he does his best to keep watch on his remaining teammate. It's the third week since she's awoken now, and the silence is starting to become normal.

"Mornin', Sara-chan," Boruto says as he stumbles into her hospital room before after hours, almost tripping over the window. In his left hand is a small bento stuffed with his mother's cooking. "Boy, you won't _believe_ the morning I had. This chuunin came this morning to take Himawari on a date, and _wooooo_ , dad was pissed that she tried skipping out on breakfast with everyone. Chased the bastard right off the porch. Then he lectured her on how she should do better than just a chuunin."

Sarada is sitting up in her bed, a styrofoam cup of tea in her hands. She looks up at him with those kaleidoscope eyes that he still finds frightening. But on her soft, heart shaped face, they're still beautiful, and they still call him forward. Her hair is messy and longer than she likes. He decides to ask her if she wants him to trim it, even if he knows she won't answer.

She smiles, just a bit. A flutter of hope chokes him up.

"I-I got ya some breakfast," he continued, raising the container of food he's brought. "Eggs, bacon, tomatoes- which, y'know, still gross."

Sarada takes another sip of her tea before setting it on the side table, next to one of the several large vases of flowers around her room. They're mostly from Naruto, who got sick of the gloomy atmosphere inside her room within ten minutes. The flower arrangements are definitely Inojin's mother's work, and the morning sun shines on them warmly as he takes his usual seat to her left.

Boruto shifts to the edge of his seat and puts his head down on her knees unthinkingly. She makes a face.

Sarada sets down her bento of breakfast to shove a pillow underneath his head with the same gentleness that she has whenever they're sprawled out in her living room, pouring over missions scrolls. It's part irritation and part care that is so uniquely her that he is struck with the normalcy. His eyes burn with treacherous tears. _When do I get you back?_ he thinks heartbrokenly.

She picks back up the bento to continue eating when he blurts out, "I miss you, Sarada."

Sarada looks up at him in shock, lashes fluttering against her pale skin. There's an ache in her black eyes that he knows he can't soothe, and he fears a seizure might come. The young Uchiha swallows thickly and stares off into space for several minutes before finding herself, blinking several times in surprise.

She reaches forward to play with his hair.

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The seizures come as soon as she awakens, off and on, with nurses stationed around the clock to keep her from choking on her own tongue, and they're godawful. Boruto witnesses the first one several hours after she opens her Sharingan red eyes, talking his sensei's head off about something mindless when Sarada's breathing became audible. He was resting his head against her legs then too. Boruto had risen when he felt her thighs shake unsteadily beneath his head, and watched with mounting, narrow-eyed horror as she fell apart. Sarada's pupils danced around, unable to focus on anything. She looked around in a panic, in search of something that was not there; she began grunting and gasping and shaking hard enough to rattle the hospital bed. She clawed her cheeks face with a piercing whine as the blood started pouring from her eyes.

The agony of her stifled noises felt worse than a kunai the Grass-nin had gutted him with.

Sasuke-sensei was already in motion, sitting her upright and shouting for her mother and turning her head off the side of the bed as she made heaving noises. Sakura had sprinted inside, a grim expression on her face. Naruto had come too, but only to pull him out. Boruto hadn't protested.

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When the seizures start coming less, and the Mangekyou Sharingan faded to black, Boruto found himself seeing more signs of life. At one month, Sarada was scowling every time he got food on her crisp white hospital-issue bedsheets. At six weeks, she was going to the bathroom by herself. By the time the second month had come to a close, Sarada's parents had taken her home.

After a mental health evaluation ordered by his father, Boruto's put back on the missions roster. He leads teams of chuunin on escort missions for important clients, and hardly sees any action. Unfortunately, all he can think about is the incompetence of the shinobi he's teamed with. They aren't as smart, as fast, as brutally precise with their ninjutsu as Sarada is. They aren't as blindingly fast, as inventive as Mitsuki. The comparisons won't quiet in his head, and he hates it. It makes him miss his best friends even more.

"Just send me on some solo missions," Boruto pleads his father after dinner. They wash dishes together in uneasy silence. "I'll be able to handle it."

Naruto purses his lips as takes too long to dry a with a wash towel. "It's not that simple, Boruto. There are jonin older and more experienced than you that are used to solo work," his father explains. His face twitches into a bit of a smile. "Not to mention you don't have _nearly_ enough A ranks under your belt."

"You know I'm capable."

"On a training field, sure."

Boruto rolls his eyes as he hands another a rinsed plate to his father. "It isn't fair. Everyone I work with is just...not what I'm used to, I guess," he says, going quieter. "I hate it."

He means for it to come off as arrogant, but it doesn't. His words are a croak, a wish for the past instead of the disjointed future he sees before him. Naruto dries his hands on his pants with a quiet sigh and pulls him into a hug, and the action pulls a trembling gasp from him. For the first time since coming home, he finds tears in his eyes, and they're hot, blurring his perfect vision, making his throat ache.

"I'm sorry, Boruto," his father mumbles.

"Boru-nii?"

Boruto and his father look up to see Himawari holding a stick of dango in one hand and a large pillow in the other. She's dressed in her pajamas already, with sashimi print shorts and a t-shirt that's two sizes too big. Boruto feels a cold shame sliver up his spine as his younger sister watches him. He turns away and rubs at his eyes roughly. The tears keep coming.

Before he knows it, he's being tackled into a hug. It takes just a second for him to embrace her back, smell the sugar and the kunai oil that always follows her around. Their father's arms cradled them both, and Boruto stands in the arms of his family as he sobs.

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Boruto goes over to the Uchiha household as often as possible. Half the time he ends up sprawled out on Sarada's floor, or asleep in the guest bedroom. Sakura and Sasuke are unsurprisingly accommodating with him. Sakura insists on him staying for dinner as often as possible, and Sasuke complains about having to feed another mouth. Then they argue about who's turn it is to cook.

It's those moments that he cherishes the most. Sarada will smile softly, and he'll reach out to squeeze her hand. She squeezes back and doesn't let go.

(Her parents don't say a word on that. He's grateful.)

It's one freezing December afternoon that Boruto falls asleep on Sarada's bed while she methodically sharpens her kunai and shuriken on a small mat laid out before her. For a while, he watches her, and goes on about the things he did before he came to see her, and retells another of Shikadai's ridiculous stories from Suna, before falling asleep. When he's awake, the weaponry is cleared away, replaced by large stacks of pictures.

He gets excited - his parents photo albums are always filled with the coolest pictures, from his parents dates to his father's inauguration into office, and especially group photos of all their friends. The pictures he sees before him are no different.

Sarada holds one picture in her hands, holding it delicately, as if it might crumble within her grasp at any second.

"Yo, is that another Team Seven picture?" Boruto asks blearily, scrambling from over the sheets to lean over the bed by his stomach. "I haven't seen this one before."

Sarada ignores him as she stares on. The picture shows Kakashi standing behind his three students in his Hokage robes, the rest of them dressed in their Konoha uniforms. They posed with their hands behind their backs. Sai, of course, is expressionless. His father's eyes are fierce and joyous, though he keeps the rest of his expression mildly neutral. His sensei stares into the camera with pride, chin up, shoulders back, seemingly fighting his own excitement. Sakura does not bother with hiding her smile, and she puffs out her chest as she stands between her boys, several inches shorter than them.

" _Man_ , do they look young," Boruto mumbles to himself, a sleepy smile spreading across his face. "I've never seen them in the standard uniform before...or this calm."

Sarada smiles softly as she picks up another picture.

This one is much less professional. The future Hokage is pointing a finger in Sasuke's face, screaming bloody murder, and the then-young Uchiha is gripping him by the front of his flak jacket with blurry red eyes. Sakura is in between them, one hand balled into a glowing-green fist that looks plainly dangerous. She shuts her eyes and glares, as if counting to ten inside her head. To her right, Sai pats her head as if she were a small child, mouth open, probably saying something rude.

Kakashi is, of course, reading his nasty orange book, hat tipped low over his eyes.

"Ah, this is more like it," the young blonde says, his smile sharpening into a smirk. "They looked way too cool in the other one."

"Mama says this is when they were prompted to jonin together," Sarada murmurs.

Boruto goes still, blinking away the tiredness left over in his eyes as he stares at his teammate. The dark haired girl ignores his sudden rigidity in order to stare fondly at the picture. His eyes burn with tears and his breathing goes uneven and his heart falters inside of his chest at the sound of her quiet, smoken-laden voice, rough with disuse.

 _Oh fuck_ , he thinks. Is it possible to miss the sound of someone's voice this badly?

Deciding to play it cool, and desperately wishing to hear her speak more, Boruto points at his father with a blunt nail. "T-that makes sense," he stumbles out. "Dad still doesn't have that scar on his nose. He got it after he became Hokage."

Sarada squints, bringing the picture closer to her face, but it's no use. She's still not wearing her glasses.

"Hmm," she says. "I think."

Boruto trembles. Sarada sets down that picture and picks up yet another one that makes her grin childishly. The sight of it draws him closer, leaning further off the bed until he has to hold himself up by both arms.

This photo is more worn than the others, faded around the edges, with creases that dissect it into four parts. It's been folded over several times over the years, he thinks. Her parents are making out openly, Sakura bent back just a bit, her arms flailing outwards in what he knows is shock. Only her father's self satisfied smirk is visible between the two of them. Sai's face is transformed with happiness, face flushed with exertion, and he laughs with his mouth opened wide Kakashi is holding up Icha Icha Paradise shamelessly, eyes shut in a wide smug. Naruto's stolen his hat, and wears it as his own, arms tossed around his former teacher and pale teammate. The blonde tilts up the billowing Hokage hat with a spectacular grin that still puts the sun to shame.

"I don't think they knew the photographer was still taking pictures of them," Sarada whispered to him, glee in her voice. "I just found this Papa's closet while I was cleaning last year."

Clearly, his sensei took this embarrassing little snapshot of his team with him on his travels away from his family, and has done so for longer than he'd rather admit. Boruto wonders where the other pictures of Sasuke have been hidden, and decides to ask his father if he can give some to Sarada.

"Bet this would've proved who your parents were _real_ quick, huh."

"Definitely. They look so...in love."

"Not as in love as my dad is with that hat."

Sarada giggles, and Boruto physically can't help himself. The blonde surges forward and wraps both his arms around her. He holds himself up by her shoulders, and focuses on calming his breathing. She takes a minute to hug him back, slender arms pressing into his back, enfolding him in warmth. He's quaking consistently now, the force of his sobs rattling his bones.

"Boruto," Sarada murmurs, pressing her head into his thick hair. Unable to respond, he hiccups just a bit. It's his turn to keep quiet now.

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The next day, he finds Sarada in the training yard. A crowd of academy students huddle a safe distance away from the onslaught. He flits around her, into the trees far away, wanting to watch more inconspicuously. She breathes giant fireballs into life, cracks the earth under her fists, back flips into intricate kata effortlessly, runs through three different training dummies with chidori, and even firing off a few new _suiton_ that he hasn't seen before.

Boruto sighs like a love struck teenage boy.

He's missed this.

If Mitsuki was here, he'd make a sly comment about his female teammate's abilities going above and beyond their heads. Boruto would have snapped that she couldn't touch him, which Sarada would have heard, which would have _definitely_ started a fight. They would have beat the hell out of each other, Mitsuki would have dusted them off, and dragged him to get burgers.

Boruto's chest aches something fierce as he imagines his dead friend again, commenting on their inability to act like adults. He slumps against the tree and feels tears again.

 _I'm such a cry baby_ , he thinks miserably to himself. _Tousan should have kicked my ass by now._

"Boruto!"

The blonde looks up, squinting into the distance to see Sarada standing on the head of her enormous slug summons, Hatsu. She'd crouched onto one knee, and in her right hand is a handful of shuriken glowing blue with chakra wires. Her the tomoe of her Sharingan are spinning, beautiful and fierce and wholly familiar. He feels his face flush with warmth at the sight.

Boruto flits through the thick foliage until he's standing on a branch, clear in view. More academy students have gathered now, and he spots a couple of their peers mixed in as well. He can just barely make out Shikadai and Inojin placing bets, placing handfuls of ryo into Chocho's awaiting hands.

"You're creepier than that annoying Aburame kid, you know," Sarada drawls. He swallows thickly as the winter wind whips their clothes sideways. "Only perverts stare at girls while they work."

Boruto goes red again.

Just to be a show off, he front flips high into the air, biting down on the knuckle of his thumb until he tasted blood. Mid air, he stared into those perfect red eyes with a smirk, and he sees it reflected on her own face. Boruto lands and slaps a hand to the ground, hand seals woven to perfection. After a smothering burst of smoke, Boruto is standing on an enormous violet and yellow toad.

For a moment, he allows his mind to wonder what Akira, Mitsuki's building-sized snake summons was doing, and if it knew that the boy it adored so much was dead now. He wondered if anyone would ever summon him again.

"Jeez, kid, it's freezing out here," Daichi mutters underneath him.

"Tell me about it," Hatsu sighs, eye stalks swaying against the cold breeze.

"You talk a lot of mess for a girl who can barely watch kissing scenes in movies," Boruto called back, ignoring their summons and slipping out his tanto from behind his back. It glints in the faint afternoon light. "And after I kick your ass, I _might_ just give you the privilege of taking me out to eat."

Her laughter is high and clear. "Privilege, or punishment?"

Boruto's trembling all over again. He feels warm and manically delighted, but he also feels just a tad slighted. Just to fuck with her, he drops his voice a few octaves. "That depends on you, doesn't it? I always reward good girls," the blonde drawls."But I like to punish them even more."

Sarada's face and ears turn scarlet. _There_ , he thinks. _Just like old times._

"I didn't bet a hundred ryo on you to watch this get kinky! Get _on_ with it, Boruto!" Shikadai shouts from below, hands cupped his mouth. Chocho is giving a flustered look to the Inuzuka girl beside her, saying something under her breath with a chagrined voice. Inojin, right behind them, looks like he's in pain.

Chocho suddenly remembers herself. "I've got _three_ hundred ryo on you, Sarada!" she shrieks up. "Kick his skinny ass!"

"What the fuck?" Boruto snaps, blushing all over. Sarada sighs, but throws her shuriken forward. He deflects the shuriken with his tanto, and within a moment, they're flying. "Why does she have so much more on _you_!?"

"A future Hokage should inspire faith and loyalty in her people!" Sarada shouts.

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They're meditating on the balcony of her room one day, for whatever terrible reason. Boruto naps a bit, holds back several sneezes, and takes off his shirt in an attempt to break Sarada's steely focus. It becomes a hopeless endeavor when the Uchiha refuses to open her eyes, and it's stupidly cold outside, so he focuses on keeping himself warm with his chakra instead. It's a good exercise for control - too much, and he begins to sweat, but too little, and he feels nothing at all. His chakra control will never be as good as Sarada's, so this is turns out to be excellent practice.

His best friend breaks his concentration with a strangled gasp, and for a single moment, he's back in that clearing, up against a tree trunk, her body collapsed against him.

Boruto's eyes fly open to reveal Sarada bent over on her knees, choking, shaking, struggling to get air in her lungs.

The smile on her face frightens him.

It's hard to hold back his sob as he brings her towards him, shifts her onto her side as the heaving starts. She grins through it manically.

Her mother's instructions echo inside of his head almost robotically as he holds onto Sarada, rubs her back as she vomits violently onto the balcony floor. Boruto controls his own shivering by the skin of his teeth. It's cold again, and he doesn't think it's because of the weather.

The triumph leaves her face. Sarada whimpers, sobs quietly, curling up on herself as she finishes. As the shaking stops, and her breathing evens out, he relaxes. The blonde shifts her into his arms and stands, arms around her body, anchoring him to her. It's a soft, enjoyable burden, and he presses her further against him with each tremor he feels. They slip back into her room, and Boruto lays her out on her bed.

Sarada is still crying as she opens her eyes, Mangekyou Sharingan spinning wildly.

Boruto opens his eyes, fear freezing him into place. The dark haired girl breathes deeply as she blinks once, twice, as her dojutsu fades into black. He doesn't breathe until she pulls at the blankets to wrap herself away.

"What-what happened?" he murmured, crouching low and reaching out to touch her.

"I-I was- I was...," Sarada strumbles, swallowing thickly before saying, "I was practicing Tsukiyomi."

His anger comes easily, violently. "Excuse me?" he hisses. "What's wrong with you? Why would you use that- that fucking-?"

"-that jutsu that saved our lives," the girl intones, flinty steel inside her voice. He winces at her words. She knows he can't deny that.

"Okay, sure, _whatever_. But it- Sarada, it _hurts_ you. "

"It won't be able to if I learn how to control it properly."

Boruto doesn't know what to say to that, and all he knows is the agony when he watches her pain. He doesn't like it. Instead of speaking to a blanket that refuses to even look at him, he shuts the doors to the balcony, resolving to clean the mess when he can coax her into a nap. He pauses as he feels the chill of his toes and decides on stealing a pair of her socks. The pink and white stripped knee-high socks that lay out on top of her dresser are mildly embarrassing, but he's more scared of searching through her draws and finding her underwear, or pictures of their team.

He goes back to sit by the bed, struggling into the half-a-size-too-small socks. It's probably more embarrassing than the stripped socks.

"If I could have unlocked the Mangekyou sooner, Mitsuki would still be alive."

Boruto freezes, trying to his stripped sock over his left ankle.

"W-what- don't say something like that!" the blonde snaps, disregarding the socks. He sits up and yanks away the blanket angrily. Sarada makes a sharp, whimpering noise at the action, reaching to cover her face, Sharingan bleeding something _fierce_. He doesn't stand for it. "Don't you dare!"

"It's _true_ , Boruto."

"Just shut up!"

Sarada's whole body goes rigid, and she looks up, something heartbreaking about her expression. The blonde can only speak faster, more emotionally, as he feels a good cry coming on. "Mitsuki died fighting! He died trying to _protect me,_ " Boruto ground out, grabbing onto Sarada's wrist. He realizes his stumble too quickly. "Pr-protect _us_. We wouldn't have lasted as long as we did without him. You- don't take that away from him. Don't. He- died like a good shinobi. The best. Fighting for his friends."

Sarada bites down on her lip hard, a trembling mess all over again, and he expects another seizure to come. Instead, she lets her Sharingan then.

"But I-I couldn't fight for him," Her voice cracks, doesn't get through all the syllables without tears leaking through again. The salt water mixes with the blood, separates it. "I'm supposed to- what's the point of this technique if I can't use it to protect everyone, what good is it? What good is going to come from this bullshit?"

He doesn't know what to say to that, so he just keeps quiet, letting go of her wrist to clasp their hands together. Boruto squeezes comfortingly.

With a deep, lasting breath, the Uchiha sits up on her side, elbow holding her up. Boruto has to look up at her now, and the sight takes his breath away. Her hardened expression, pale face stained with blood, dark eyes, and wispy hair is sharpened with grief, with strength.

"That's why- I can't let-...I will protect you, Boruto," she promises. He doens't think there's a person in the world who wouldn't believe her now. "I'll- I'll become Hokage, and protect you, and protect _everyone_. Even Papa. I'll learn to use these eyes properly, and stop having these- these _stupid_ seizures, and get stronger, and...and I'll be _damned_ if I let anything happen to you. Something's gonna come from all this trouble. It has to."

He's silent. The blonde doesn't feel the tears falling down his own face. Boruto isn't sure of what to say, can't think of anything that won't seem flimsy and meaningless against his life oath.

Boruto contents himself to wiping away the blood from her face, and pressing a chaste, dry kiss to her knuckles.

.

.

.

He's never been sure what he's felt for Uchiha Sarada. Sometimes she's an infuriating rival, sometimes she's a partner in crime, but mostly she's his best friend. He knows that he adores her, and respects her, and wants to make her dream of becoming Hokage come true. Before the mess the Grass-nin made of their lives, he would dream of her as Hokage, haori billowing in the wind behind her like a goddess of supreme justice. Boruto would be at her right. Mitsuki would be at her left.

He doesn't have such pleasant dreams anymore.

It's a conflict of interest, to say the least. Boruto loves girls as much as he loves training or spending time with his family, but he's always been hesitant to cross _that_ line with her. Not everyone ends up as happy as Sasuke and Sakura Uchiha.

And, of course, the girl was terrifying. If he ended things with her the way he usually ended his relationships, he might just wake up castrated.

Not to mention his _sensei_.

Being a shameless flirt is much more safe. And fun, if he does say so himself.

His pupils still dilate when she smiles, and he still blushes when she looks at him too long, too closely.

It's not the least of his concerns, but not a very practical one. His stomach still falls out of his chest when she is tossed into the throws of another seizure. He still thinks they will mourn their best friend, however quietly they do (there are still impromptu silences, trembling whispers, that tell him they are far from being healed, and it's frightening, how how bad it can still hurt, because he knows it's just as easy for a cut this deep to fester with infection instead of scar over.)

Sarada will pass her mental evaluations, get through her mandatory probation, and conquer Tsukiyomi, however long it takes. She'll start going to lunch with Chocho and dinner at the Uzumaki's. She'll help her father in his vegetable garden and dance to radio songs in the kitchen with her mother. They'll still talk shit and spend mornings at the cenotaph and look at old photographs of their parents together. They'll be thrown out on the field as a pair instead of a squad, and they won't- they _will_ compensate, somehow. He'll make it happen.

Boruto has never been sure about what he's felt for Sarada, but knows it doesn't matter. He knows she'll keep saving him - again and again and again.

.

.

.

The Hachidaime stands before the ruined gates of Konoha, between the enemy and her precious village. The forest is lit aflame, and the smoke invades his lungs. The army behind her has stilled in anxiety, and somewhere far off, he can hear the beginnings of her mother's monstrous taijutsu wrecking havoc on the attackers. He knows their fathers will join her soon.

Sarada's kaleidoscope eyes spin menacingly, and her haori billows about, just like in his dreams.

"What a day," Boruto mutters, forming a single hand seal. Three clones burst into life all around her, and they arm themselves with kunai, a flourish of backwards twirls. "I bet there isn't a single kage who ever had to deal with an invasion on the day of their inauguration."

"There isn't a single kage who has my luck," Sarada says, unsheathing her chukoto. The piercing birdsong of chidori surrounds them. "Ready?"

"Always am," Boruto replies. He slips his tanto from behind his hip. "Watch my back, anata."

"Always am." The smile clear in her voice.

.

.

.

Uzumaki Boruto is twenty eight, an ANBU captain six years into his position, and still as wild as the whirlpools from his grandmother's ancestral lands. And, like those turbulent waters of death, he's always ready to fuck someone up. He's got the best eyes in the world watching his back, after all.

So when he faces the fire storm with his wife by his side, he isn't afraid.

 _._

 _._

 _._

 **A/N:** _I just...really liked this idea...and I really love BoruSara even though I keep saying I hate Boruto...basically I'm fake as hell. And I'm not sure if I'm gonna keep going._


End file.
